


knock on my door

by mysafeplaceishere



Series: beyond the stars [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frenemies Dib & Zim (Invader Zim), Heartbreak, Imprinting, Not Beta Read, Older Dib (Invader Zim), Older Zim (Invader Zim), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Tall Zim (Invader Zim), Toxic Coping Methods, no beta here we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29073915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysafeplaceishere/pseuds/mysafeplaceishere
Summary: You never thought meeting an alien in middle school would bring you to the point of being on the run for your life. Not that anyone necessarily wants you dead, but since you are the significant other of a very wanted defective Irken—well, that makes things more complicated.What could be worse than being on the run? You aren’t just on the run from anyone, but from the Almighty Tallests themselves. Zim doesn’t take kindly to that.
Relationships: Zim (Invader Zim)/Reader, platonic Dib/Reader
Series: beyond the stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133087
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	1. five years

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello yes. me starting another Zim series? more likely than you think.
> 
> I’d like to address that Zim is older in this and is no longer 2 foot tall. More mature, too. I won’t take away from his personality because we can’t have Zim without some screaming and world domination but I will add a twist to it. 
> 
> Also. Imprinting. It’ll be explained as we get deeper into the series. Cross my heart. 
> 
> Will this series have actual plot? Yes. Big shocker, right? It is for me and I’m the one writing it. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy. Feel free to leave comments on how I can improve Zim if he needs it. :)

A exhale of relief leaves your lungs when you finally close the door. You lean your back against the polished wood and slide down until you hit the floor, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The taste of cheap booze and cigarette smoke lingers on your tastebuds and it almost makes you dry heave just thinking about how the taste got there in the first place. 

The date had went smooth enough. You met at a local bar, had a few drinks, and talked like normal people until it was late enough to say goodbye for the night. The conversations were light, carefree and he even managed to make you laugh a few times. Although you couldn’t get rid of the feeling that you were being watched, but every time you spared a glance behind you nothing was there. The feeling was chalked up to being paranoia. It had been a year since you last went on a date and dating can be dangerous. Dib made sure to warn you multiple times beforehand, almost like a parent watching their daughter go on her first real date.

You both ended up carrying the conversation outside to the parking lot. The positive spike in your mood dropped when seeing him light up a cigarette and blow the smoke in your direction after inhaling his first hit. It was nauseating but you held it together long enough to offer a smile as a goodbye. What you hadn’t expected was for his hand to hold you back by your wrist. Panic didn’t have time to set in before he was kissing you with a new kind of confidence—like the cigarette had somehow managed to intoxicate him better than the alcohol. 

You were frozen in place, eyes wide with surprise and arms hanging at your sides as he tilted the angle of your head to kiss you better. Although you don’t know how he enjoyed it; you didn’t attempt to kiss back. 

The urge to vomit coiled in your gut the moment the pulled back to examine your expression for any signs of enjoyment. He didn’t find any. All he found was repressed trauma. The moment his hands left your person, you lifted your own and slapped him straight across the face. You took his moment of surprise to get in your car and leave, tears blurring your vision. Paired with the humiliation and the chills that ran up your back from feeling watched made your fight or flight pick flight. 

You stare up at your ceiling in hopes it’ll make the tears stinging at your eyes go away. Every part of you feels dirty from the top of your head down to your toes. Tears streak down your face when you look down to fish your phone out of your pocket and dial the first number that comes to mind. With a shaky hand, you hold the phone up to your ear and refrain from collapsing into a mess of snot and tears. Everything you feel right now is useless—you don’t know why you have yourself so worked up. 

It’s normal to kiss someone on a first date, right? Deep down you know that it isn’t the reason why you ran. That was the first time you had been kissed in well over a couple of years. The touch-to-touch basis wasn’t terriblebut every single one of your nerves set alight in the worst way. It felt you were breaking a promise you didn’t even know you made. Something was amiss. 

When the phone picks up, you can’t help but sag lower against the door with a soft sob. Being alone after experiencing what you now realize was a panic attack is not your forte at the moment. All you need is a second of reassurance, maybe some laughter if you can get to that point. The trembling of your body makes your teeth chatter. 

_ “Whoa, hey, what’s wrong? Are you crying?” _

“No. I’m just drowning, Dib,” you garble back, pulling your knees up to your chest.

_ “Ha ha. Real funny. Is this about the date?” _

You can hear the hesitation in his voice—it’s clear as day. Not that he has much a filter, he hasn’t had one since you first met him in middle school. It was his sharp tongue that led you to being friends in the first place. You had heard him saying something about vampire bees to his sister and thought it would be wise to interject with some comment about how they didn’t exist. You treasure the memory of arguing with each other until the bell rang for class.

“I—“ you start, eyes squeezed tight, “I don’t know.”

Truly, you don’t know. No date you have ever had has felt that exposing—traumatizing, you could say. In more than one way did it leave a bitter taste in your mouth. You could brush your teeth a thousand times and still taste it days from now.

There is some silence on his end before he breaks it with another question, one that makes your heart jump into your throat. His tone is sharp, knowing. It feels like ice water being poured down your back after sunbathing and it takes your breath away. Not that you could keep it steady in the first place.

_ “I thought you were over Zim. You said that you were.” _

Apparently you lied to both Dib and yourself.

You don’t think you can get over Zim. Maybe you had yourself tricked into thinking that it was well over the time frame of which you should have healed and moved on. Normal people would have found someone new by now and settled down to be happier, a better versions of themselves. After all, it has been five years since he vanished into thin air without so much as a trace to his existence.

You had met the little alien back in middle school along with Dib. Although you met Dib first, Zim wasn’t far behind and showed up a few months later. The new kid that nobody liked: that’s what everybody referred to him as. As someone who had been in that position many times from moving around a lot in your younger youth, you knew it felt awful to be bullied because you didn’t fit in. Dib was positive that he was an alien and, while you wholeheartedly agreed with him on that fact from the mere color of Zim’s skin, you were naive. So what did you do? You tried to befriend him.

It was obvious he hated everyone just from the way he spoke. Loud, obnoxious, cruel in a belittling kind of way. He had a track record of hurting people for fun—not seriously injuring anyone from what you know of, but things like pushing someone down down the last two steps of stairs, tripping, pinching, and things that no one could do anything about without getting his family involved. That parent-teacher conference had everyone terrified of his parents.

You took one look at him and decided that the little green alien was your next target of friendship. Dib thought you had lost your mind. Friends with an alien? Did you have a screw loose in that head of yours? Now that you look back on it, you can confirm that you did but you thank that little loose screw for a lot of things.

Each day you would attempt to get closer to him. One day it would be walking along side him through the hallway, letting him borrow your pencils when he chewed his up, sitting with him at lunch. You noticed during that time that he made an effort to never look anyone in the eye for more than a few seconds. The most eye contact you would get is a glare before he was stomping off to get away from the crowd. Never anything along enough to linger.

You didn’t let any of his mannerisms get in the way of your conquest to earn his trust. While he made it known he was only tolerating your presence for data and information, you did your best to not let it affect you. He was there to destroy earth and enslave the humans—you heard that from him pretty much everyday. You found it charming how devoted to his cause he was.

Dib was adamant about keeping you safe. So if you were hanging around Zim for lunch, he was too. Begrudgingly, but he would sit there and pick at his food with the meanest glare directed at the tiny alien in front of him. Lunch period was always interesting as far as you can remember and it was that way throughout high school as well. It was a weird friend group that formed through hatred on Zim’s end and determination on yours. As far as breaking down Zim’s invisible barrier went, it didn’t go as you had planned.

The day you finally broke through to him was the day you decided to break up a fight between him and Dib. That day went farther than usual and blood was drawn from Dib’s cheek went Zim took a swing with one of his bare claws after Dib had wrestled one of his gloves off. You stepped in, grabbed Dib by the hair on his head, and stomped on Zim’s foot. They both back-peddled away from your hold the instant you let them. While Dib was busy trying to find his glasses and smooth back out his hair, Zim was standing there with wide eyes.

Your first priority was to make sure Dib was okay. Once you knew his bleeding cheek would be okay, you stormed over to Zim to help him fix his crooked wig and hand him his glove. Your gaze ended up meeting his when adjusting the wig atop his head and it was like something clicked within him. You could see the pupils of his contacts dilate smaller the longer eye contact was held. It took you a minute to register his hand reaching up to barely brush your cheek before being snatched back to his chest.

You didn’t have time to ask why he did that before he was sprinting across the school yard to get away. You didn’t see him again for days after that.

When he returned to school after his small break, you immediately noticed the change in his behavior towards you. His gaze would linger in class as to where he wouldn’t look at you before, he waited in the hallway for you, always saved a seat for you at lunch and even made an attempt to compliment your clothing style. It came out as an insult but you knew it was coming from a good place at the time. You didn’t mind the attention—in fact, it felt right in an odd sort of way.

You couldn’t explain it. You _still_ can’t. 

Things stayed that way until the second to the last year of high school. While you and Dib had grown, Zim stayed miniature sized. He grew a few inches taller but didn’t even reach your shoulders by the end of it all. Dib made sure to give him hell about it every day considering height was most valuable in Irken culture. You, on the other hand, thought his small stature was endearing and made sure to tell him he was fine the way he was. You would get a spill about how he knew he was wonderful in every way but there were a few times here he would just huff, head turned to the side to hide his growing embarrassment.

You knew you had gained a crush on him. It was obvious in the way you would protect him around school, sometimes out of school too. Dib and Gaz pointed it out the second they caught wind of it. You made no attempt to deny it. It was true and Gaz could see through any lie.

One day after school, Zim pulled you over to the side while Dib was distracted and asked you to visit his home. The request caught you off guard. Zim didn’t let anyone in his house and you knew that from experience. You had seen the outside of it and even got a peek inside when you knocked on his door one weekend. He was private for good reason. Dib was the only one to have a vague idea of it but you never attempted to sneak into his house. So for him to almost demand you walk him home, you eagerly accepted.

The inside decor matched the outside: pink, purple, everything out of place and yet could pass as a regular home in the long run. The living room was comfy in an alien sort of way. The monkey picture hanging up behind the couch was the only thing that made you feel uncomfortable. Your attention wasn’t on it for very long before Zim was sitting down beside you on the couch, twiddling his thumbs. Naturally you went to ask what had him nervous but the only answer you got was a frustrated hiss.

He would go on to ask if you would think differently of him without the disguise. You knew that Zim didn’t care if people had a strong opinion on him—it wasn’t his concern. If someone didn’t like his loud personality, too bad for them. He would up the volume just because he could. For him to ask or even care about your opinion made your face burn. You assured him that he would always be the little alien you met in middle school. The answer neither impressed nor irritated him.

You watched with wide eyes and a slack jaw when he nonchalantly pulled off his wig and removed his contacts. Dib had told you of the alien under the disguise but you had never seen it for yourself until then. Zim looked anxious while he awaited an answer, a compliment, something to ease his nerves. You smiled and you could see the anxiety melt away from the simple gesture.

_ “Do you still want Zim?” _

Turns out your want and his want were two completely different things. The meaning behind the question slipped over the top of your head.

You found yourself reaching out to smooth back the two antennae that protruded from his head. He leaned up into your hand and you found yourself at a loss for words, unable to comprehend the fact that he was enjoying your touch at all. You hadn’t realized he took that as a yes to the question asked.

You didn’t pull away when his tiny hands cupped your face to pull you forward to close the gap. It took a minute for your brain to catch up to the fact he was kissing you. It was the most inexperienced kiss you’d ever had besides your own first kiss that happened back in fifth grade, but it was the best one as well. You could tell he was pouring himself into it the best he could and that meant more to you an experience ever could. There was a lingering want on the edges of it.

That was how your relationship with an alien began. Dib was furious at first and didn’t talk to you after that. It was by the grace of his sister pinching his ear and dragging him to see you that you both agreed that it wouldn’t hurt anyone. Zim didn’t seem to want to annihilate the planet anymore; in fact, he was trying to fit in better. Dib respected your decision after giving it some thought but still warned you to be careful.

You were the happiest you had ever been with Zim. It felt like it was supposed to happen—like you were connected in a way that no other human had. You didn’t find it weird he was another race. You had been living aside him for years and never gave it any thought besides when he threatened to eradicate human life. Throughout the last year of high school, Zim would open up to you about everything. Where he came from, his work, what he was as an Irken, his culture and language, and his Almighty Tallest which he held in high regard. For a while, anyway. There was a point where he has lost faith in them and the armada. 

You knew him like the back of your hand by graduation and he you.

Then he disappeared out of nowhere. Gone without a trace.

It wasn’t just his body that vanished, his whole house and Gir did too. Everything that gave a clue to his existence was gone. All that was left was the empty space between two apartment buildings and the cracks in the brick walls to prove he had been there, sucking their power dry.

Worry ate at you day after day while waiting for him to return. Then those days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned five years without seeing him. You couldn’t count how many tears you shed in the pain of losing him. You had never loved anyone so fiercely—so wholeheartedly before. Being without him made your chest physically ache to the point it was hard to breathe. Some nights when no one was around to distract you, it would consume you whole. It was all you could think about; sometimes it still is.

The torture of losing him healed a little bit more as time went on. Just this morning you thought it was time to go on a date, forget about Zim once and for all, but you were wrong. You can’t. He was your first love and maybe even something even more than that. You don’t know how to explain it to someone like Dib who hasn’t experienced it. Zim was there in what felt like was the beginning and to lose him so close to graduation, so close to another part of life? It crushed you.

It feels like you’re missing half of your soul, and kissing that guy tonight reminded you that it would be better to stay single than try to fill the void with someone who couldn’t measure up to it. It would be like drinking to numb the pain only for it to return the next morning with a hangover.

Do you still have hope that Zim will turn up someday? It hangs on by a thread but it is there, waiting, watching. If for some reason he does show up, you won’t hesitate to take him back if he asks. Not without you punching him in the mouth first.

“I don’t think I _can_ , Dib,” you murmur, “I’ll always miss him enough to never move on. I would rather be alone than be with anyone else.”

_ “That isn’t healthy and you know it. We’ve talked about this.” _

You knew it wasn’t healthy the first months Zim was gone. No one needs to tell you things you already know but the overwhelming amount of guilt consumes the irritation. Better to let it go than start a fight in the middle of the night for no reason. 

_“Do I need to come stay the night? I don’t want to leave you alone.”_

You shake your head even though he can’t see it. “I think I’m just going to take a shower and go to bed for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There’s a heavy exhale. _“Alright. Call me if you have trouble with anything.”_

The line goes dead after saying half-hearted goodbyes. You lean your head back against the door and the urge to scream makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. You can barely choke it down before standing to your feet and kicking off your shoes.

No point in screaming if you know it won’t help.

You shuffle through the living room and into the hallway to get to your bedroom. It’s dark and you can hardly see but you don’t attempt to find the light switch. You flick on your bedside lamp and squint your eyes at the harsh contrast from dark to light. After throwing your phone on the bed along with the jewelry you used to dress up for you date, you dig some comfortable clothes out of your closet.

The shower helps the ache in your chest if only a little bit; at the very least it helps warm you up and relax your tense muscles. While scrubbing your hair, you come to the conclusion that having a life with Zim would have been too good. Your parents used to say that life isn’t fair and will never be fair. You were small at the time, no older than five, but you remember not believing them. Your childlike point of view said that if there was something to reach for, reach for it and it is yours.

What you were reaching for was graduating from high school, finding a job to save for money and buying a place of your own to start on a lifelong career. You did just that. The only problem is that Zim was supposed to be there for all of it and at one point in time he had said himself that he wanted to go where you went. So you got only half of your reach and the other half disappeared into the night without a sound.

Ironic that your parents ended up being right. Now that you aren’t a kid anymore, you can see why they wanted to let you know early on. 

This house that you live in doesn’t feel like much of a home. Not like you thought it would. 

You have to drag yourself out of the shower with little energy you have left. Drying your hair is usually apart of your nightly routine but tonight drained you more than you thought it would. You skip that part and head straight to bed after slipping on some comfortable clothes to sleep in.

You curl under your comforter with a sigh, unbothered about the jewelry you forgot to put up hitting the floor. Everything can wait for tomorrow. All you care about is getting some sleep to wash away the creeping wrongfulness of how tonight went. You should call that guy and apologize for slapping him—it was a instant reaction. Every part of your body was screaming for you to do something, anything. You could have chosen to let him off easy, tell him it wouldn’t work out, explain why you felt uncomfortable. Anything would have been better than hitting him but you felt watched and acted on impulse.

You make a mental note to apologize in the morning and never go on another date. Ever again. Tonight was definitely not worth it. Five years wasn’t near enough time to heal.

You turn out your lamp and let the darkness wash over the room. Somehow not being able to see anything settles the uncomfortable twist in your gut and calms the shrieking of you internal danger meter. The shadows are welcoming and your eyes flutter closed, face digging into the mesh of your pillow.

Tomorrow _will_ be better.

Just as you start to drift off, there is a knock on your front door. You flinch back awake, eyes wide in the dark and roll over to look at your alarm clock. It’s midnight on the dot.

There is only one person that would show up at your house this late.

You grumble under your breath about how you can’t get any peace and fling back your comforter to stagger out of bed. The dampness of your hair against the chilly air makes you shiver on the way to the door. Half way there you start to ramble loud enough for the person on the other side to hear. You can see him rolling his eyes at your ranting in your head.

“Dib, I _told_ you I was fine! You don’t have to worry all the time,” you undo the lock on the door and rip it open, rubbing your tired eyes.

“The next time you show up to my house during the middle of the night,” you look up with a glare, only to lose your breath, “I will... hurt you...”

That _isn’t_ Dib.

The street lamps illuminate their back, casting their face in shadow. The hood of their hoodie is pulled over their head but you can make out the almost inhuman glow of their eyes through the darkness hiding their facial features. You resist the urge to slam the door in their face and pull your arms up to your chest in defense. They make no movements to get inside nor do they try to reach out and touch you.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Can I help you?”

They don’t say anything in return, only examining you. You know you should shut the door and be on your way back to bed. You know you should, but something about the way they stand there gazing at you is enough to keep you held in place. Your eyes flicker up and down for any information on who this person could be.

They’re tall; a few inches taller than you. You can’t make out their body type from the pink hoodie that they have on. What you do spot is the light reflecting off of their seemingly knee-high, toe-pointed boots and it makes the blood drain from your face.

Those boots are familiar.

Your eyes flicker back up to their face, wide and fearful. This person radiates familiarity and, for the second time tonight, your fight or flight switch could be triggered with any wrong movement. Their hands leave their hoodie pockets to reach for their hood and your eyes blur with tears when seeing that their hands only has three claw-like fingers.

When the hood comes down, the breath you had been holding rushes out with a sound that resembles a sob. The slicked back black wig, green skin, inhumanly round eyes. There is no mistaking that face.

“Zim?”

His features have matured in a lot of ways but through the monotone expression you can see the alien wonder in his eyes. That same wonder he used to look up at you with, holding onto the edge of your shirt to get your attention. The height threatens to throw you off—he barely hit your ribs the last time you saw him, but the way his face melts into something soft and sweet when you say his name is enough. His mouth curls into a saddened smile and your heart skips a beat.

It’s been years since you last saw that smile.

“You haven’t changed.”

His voice isn’t the same as it used to be. It’s deeper, richer, and yet you can still detect the twang of Zim still somewhere in there. He isn’t the little Irken you met back in middle school, and yet you feel just the same as you did five years ago. Everything about him draws you back in, drowning every sense you have until it’s hard to think.

You try to wipe away the tears dripping down your face but the more you get rid of, the angrier you get. That urge to scream you had earlier drowns you again and it’s hard to hold it back.

“You have,” you say through a watery grimace, voice a soft whisper.

The lonely, love sick part of you wants to fall into his arms and hold on until it all feels okay. Zim never was big on physical affection so who knows if he would even let you, but it almost feels worth it to try. Even if for just a second.

Then you remember he left you without an explanation and, while he may have a good reason, your vision is red. Discerning your anger from your pain doesn’t cross the threshold of your mind as you start to press your pointer finger into his chest—hard. If he wants to explain, he can do it after you get your troubles in the open. He needs to know how much pain his disappearance caused, although you have a feeling he already does from the way he lets you prod at him.

You have a lot to say but through every jumbled thought you can only get out a vulnerable sounding, “You left me. _How_ could you do that?”

Hesitantly, his fingers curl over your wrist to pull your hand away from his chest. The skin on skin contact burns in the best and worst way possible. Your teary eyes flicker from his face to his hand, bottom lip quivering. You’re trying hard not to let your emotions overcome you for the third time tonight.

“I _had_ to,” he answers in his matter-of-fact tone of voice, “it was the only way.”

The only way to break your spirit, maybe.

You know there is more to the story and should be patient enough to give him a chance to explain it. But in fit of exasperation and internal agony, you rip your hand from his and cradle it to your chest like he had attempted to cut the whole thing off.

“Do you know how _miserable_ I’ve been?!” You raise your voice, tears blurring your vision. You don’t bother to wipe them away this time.

“Just let me explain—“

You cut him off by holding up your finger. The words die in his throat the second you lift your hand in his face. His expression is slack with something you can’t pinpoint through your grief. His posture straightens when you step forward to crowd his space, but he never makes an attempt to touch you. Even with the small amount of space that separates his body from yours.

“You could have given me a warning, a note, some kind of sign! I waited for _five years_ , Zim!”

You begin to softly sob, hanging your head to hide your face. Your body trembles with each heave.

“I don’t have that much time to spare waiting for you,” you choke out, “I don’t have the time to wait decades for you to come back if you leave again... why couldn’t I move on like I _should have_?”

Out of the corner of your eye do you see his hand lift again but make no attempt to deflect it, only bending to his will when he grasps your chin between his fingers to bring your eyes back to his. His touch is soft, delicate, enough to make you melt. His expression is hardened, not a glare per-say but it’s enough to make you still in anticipation. Then he’s wrapping his free hand around your back and pressing forward to kiss you—not tenderly, but fiercely; like someone had told them it would be the last time he would hold you.

The kiss itself is a bit out of practice but feels a thousand times better just having him close. You know that this is where you belong: in his arms, held close, wanted. Every ounce of anger that pooled in your chest melted away the second his lips made contact with yours. It’s like him apologizing without having to do it verbally and you accept by grasping full fists of his pink invader uniform at the waist.

You cannot lose him this time. There is no way you would be able to live through that again.

Hopefully you won’t have to.

When he pulls away, there is an uncharacteristic softness in his eyes. Only a few times ever has he looked at you like that back when he was smaller, more feral in his ways. This Zim seems so much more docile. But the way he smiles, all zipper teeth and in complete possessiveness is when you know deep down that the Zim you met is there somewhere hiding.

His embrace tightens to the point it is hard to breathe.

“You are mine. You have been mine from the beginning,” he breathes, eyes crinkling at the edges when nuzzling his forehead against yours, “you have _always_ belonged to Zim.”


	2. where you go, I go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to start off by saying that the next chapter will get into the thicker plot. This was just to flesh some stuff out even if it isn’t explained too well yet. 
> 
> In due time. 
> 
> Also would like to say that the ‘Reader’ isn’t going to be whiney or cry all the time. That isn’t how I want her personality to be. That gets annoying, but I do have to be realistic in a way. I would be upset if I were in her shoes. 
> 
> Have fun with this roller coaster. :>

Adjusting to life with Zim back in it was more challenging than you thought it to be. You hoped that maybe he would originally set up where his house was and things would go back to the way it was before.

Deep down you knew it wouldn’t be the same. No longer was he the size of a toddler, nor did he have the urge to take over earth anymore. In fact, he made it known he only came back because he left you behind. You would have found the sentiment touching if not for the fact that, when he told you that, the look in his eyes said there was something to fear. You didn’t ask him about it—he wouldn’t have told you in the first place. If he wanted you to know, he would tell you. Zim was one to tell you every plan he had inside his head and, at the same time, never tell you what he was thinking at all. You didn’t suspect his personality to change in that aspect.

You always knew there was something wrong in your gut about his disappearance but the more you noticed missing with his arrival, the more that wrong feeling turned to be true. Zim didn’t have anything with him except the clothes on his back. Your heart fell to your feet when it struck you that Gir was no where to be found, and from experience you knew that the two of them were close. Gir was like his son in a weird, non-parental sort of way. Zim could tell you wanted to ask and simply shook his head, leaving it nothing but a mystery.

You had a feeling that he wasn’t telling you for a reason. The story would eventually come out and you could be a patient person—you did wait a good bit waiting for Zim to come back.

There was a lot you could have talked about that night. Why he went missing, why he had changed so much during that time, where was Gir, why did he decide to come back now? You could have wasted the whole night trying to get answers, but refrained from doing so when you saw how miserable he looked. You could describe everything about him as exhausted from his expression to his slumped posture. It didn’t take a lot of thinking to pull him into your home. Your house was his house and you decided that it would be before you even owned it.

Zim didn’t bother checking the place out like you thought he would. His curious nature didn’t shine through the weary look in his eyes. Where you went, he followed—always searching out your warmth. You didn’t object when he grasped your hand to hold you back, silently asking for permission to enter your bedroom. The thing you wanted least was to be away from him, you had done that enough, and tugged him along with you.

While you did enjoy his invader uniform and the matching hoodie he had on, it didn’t look comfortable and offered him some spare clothes. You often stayed over at the Membrane’s place the days you needed company and stole Dib’s clothes every chance you got. Something about oversized clothes that didn’t belong to you were better. Zim refused with a scowl, saying he would never wear something that belonged to _“that stinky, stupid worm for brain.”_ All you could do is give a weary smile, finding comfort in the fact that some things may never change.

By the end of the night, you had found yourself back in bed and Zim was perched by your window. You had wanted him to lay with you, hold him close, find some comfort while you slept. Parting with him made you feel ill. Maybe back then when he was smaller, you would have picked him up and forcefully snuggled him until he gave up thrashing around. That wouldn’t work so well now—and you aren’t sure if you could push boundaries like that anymore. Zim may have come back, kissed you, told you the things you wanted to hear, but that didn’t mean it was the same as it was.

Drifting asleep wasn’t easy but you managed. Zim stayed near the window, watching the outside like he was expecting someone to show up. He sunk into the darkness, sometimes softly chirping and clicking to himself. You knew it was Irken, but he hadn’t taught you any before leaving. He only ever did that when he was stressed. The tone of it was all you could recognize and it sounded distraught.

That set you on edge. Something wasn’t right—you could sense it.

•••

The ringing of your phone wakes you up. You roll over, pulling your comforter over your head with a huff, hoping whoever is calling will call back when you aren’t half asleep. Holding a conversation doesn’t sound desirable at the moment. A few minutes go by of silence and you almost fall back asleep before it rings again.

You uncurl from the blankets and blindly reach over to your bedside table to grab your phone. You crack open one eye to hit the answer button and put it on speaker before sinking back into your bed with a hiss. If life left you alone, you would sleep in for the rest of the day. A day off work, no bills to be paid, no errands to run. You could waste the daylight and be content.

“Why are you calling me so early, Dib?” You murmur loud enough for the speakers to catch.

_“What do you mean? It’s lunchtime,”_ he almost laughs, _“did you forget about our plans today?”_

Your brows furrow together, eyes squeezed shut. With everything that happened last night, it slipped your memory. If you play dumb, maybe he will second guess himself. “What plans?”

There is a pause of him sighing into the phone. _“You said you would come over the day after your date. Judging from our call last night, I would say you could use a day to rant.”_

You sit up in the bed, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes with a yawn. That date is not something you want to have a chit-chat about. You know Dib means it in the best way possible; he isn’t one to push you too far _most_ times. He made it his job to watch out for you way before Zim had crept into the picture. He was the first one to watch you collapse into a mess of sobs one day and his overprotective nature has been a pain in your backside since. Not that you don’t appreciate his effort.

Realization hits you that someone else may be listening to the conversation when you hear a clicking noise. Your gaze flickers over to your couch to find Zim sitting there with legs crossed, staring at you with round, magenta eyes that somehow seem to make your lungs cave in. Your breath hitches in your throat when all he does is blink, subtly tapping one fingered claw against the wall. His face is devoid of any emotion but you do notice how his antennae twitch with irritation. He must have taken the wig and contacts off sometime during the night.

“I...” you wrack your brain for a response, unable look away from Zim’s now sharpening glare, “I’ll be over there in an hour or so.”

You didn’t want him knowing about the date last night. It was a mistake, to put it lightly. If you had the chance to forget a memory from the past year, you would choose that date starting from the point of getting ready to leaving. 

_ “Great! I’ll see you then.” _

The phone goes dead and the room is plunged into silence. If not for the cars outside, there would be a ringing in your ears to fill in how quiet it is. You nervously chew on your bottom lip and avert your eyes to your lap, hoping you can come up with something to say that doesn’t sound stupid. Your heart is already threatening to beat out of your chest and you haven’t been awake more than ten minutes.

What would you even _say_? “Oh, sorry, I thought you were done with me and tried forgetting about you.” That doesn’t sound like a very thought out excuse. 

Zim can be possessive. You knew that from the very beginning. His whole personality is _“what’s mine is mine and I’ll die before you take it,”_ and somehow you find comfort in it. Except now he knows you were trying to move on and guilt gnaws at the center of your chest. 

“Zim will go with you.”

You look back over at him, still worrying your bottom lip beneath your teeth. A sweet gesture, but one you’re sure is made to keep Dib from getting too close. Everything has happened so fast and your brain is having a hard time catching up. He probably wants to scope out how you life is now in comparison to _just_ wanting to tag along. Zim always has a method to his madness.

“You don’t have to do that,” you unintentionally whisper.

Despite your pathetic attempt of telling him to stay home, he crosses his arms and repeats what he had said. You gape at him like a fish out of water for the better part of a few seconds before climbing out of bed and staggering over to the couch. He doesn’t make an attempt to scoot away when you sit down beside him, anxiously rubbing your forearm. You lift your head to meet his eyes when he starts to talk again. The sound is soothing in a weird way you can’t explain.

“The Dib will find out eventually,” he hisses, tongue flicking between his zipper teeth, “he always found out my evil plans. That brainless earth worm.”

You can’t help but smile at the way his personality still shines through the pointed way he holds his expressions back to remain neutral. He could have a cluster of guns pointed at him and he would still insult each and every person wielding one. He would personally take the time to find a flaw in each person until someone is crying. You remember the days where he used to do that to you—you’re now grateful that none of his insults got to you in the way it got to others. All you had to do is coo at him and he was pushing back harder. You enjoyed playing that game. 

“Listen, Zim,” you start, “about the date thing. I hadn’t meant—“

He cuts you off by scoffing. You stare with wide eyes and slightly parted lips as he goes on a tangent about said date. His arm almost smacks you in the face when he begins to wave them around. You have to lean out of the way when he rolls his shoulder and his hand folds backwards, smacking the backrest. You can’t help but stare at how sharp his claws are even with the gloves on. 

“I do not care about that date of yours! No _monkey_ can compare to Zim! Only I can treat you the way you deserve to be treated,” he ends with a hand to his proudly puffed out chest.

Relief washes over you. It is like a weight off your shoulders knowing he isn’t upset with you, or worse. You want to take his face into your hands, pull him in close, and kiss him until all your troubles melt away but refrain from doing so. While his presence comforts you, it also feels like you have to walk on eggshells around him. You don’t know what is acceptable to his standards anymore—the two of you could be considered mere acquaintances at this point. Maybe long lost friends. Time took away the physical and emotional connection to a certain point that it feels taboo to even be close to him.

You know you love him, crave him, want so much more than maybe he is willing to give at this point, but a barrier of doubt keeps you from pushing further. It’s infuriating. Yearning so desperately for someone only to keep yourself back in fear of potential rejection stings. You could be overthinking it—you have a habit of doing that—he didn’t hesitate to express his feelings last night.

And yet you still find your hand drifting to meet his, slowing lacing your fingers with his the best you can. He goes rigid as soon as contact is made and you can’t find it in yourself to look at his face. His expression always did give away what he was feeling in the past and you’re worried it might not be something you like. 

Your grip tightens to hide the fact that your hands are trembling.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

The latex of his glove is cold against your skin, reminding you how Irkens have a hard time holding their own body heat. Zim holds no warmth whatsoever but just the simple touch of palms pressed together is enough to set you on fire. It suddenly feels all too hot.

“Not now. I would guess there is too much to explain before we have to leave for Dib’s place, but I need you to tell me eventually.”

You lift your gaze, eyes saddened and tired. There isn’t a set of words to express how exhausted you are. Zim sees the exhaustion in your forced smile and his antennae flatten against his head. You don’t move away when he hesitantly presses his forehead to yours, letting his throat rumble with cat-like purr. It settles your nerves just enough that it doesn’t feel like you’re choking to death.

“I will tell you when the time is right, Stinky.”

Your forced smile morphs into a genuine one at the nickname before using your free hand to push him away by the face. 

“Real romantic. Couldn’t you come up with a better name than that? At least try to be nice?”

You stand from the couch to cross your arms, peering over him with a raised brow. He mindlessly, without looking, feels for his wig and contacts with purse of his lips. The light from outside reflecting off the shine of his eyes makes it look like he sparkles. An innocence tactic. You’re well aware of what he is doing.

“No, because you are stinky and Zim is never wrong.”

You throw him a look of exasperation before giving in by throwing up your hands. No point in arguing with him if you know there is no chance at winning in the long run. The two of you could hold an argument for hours back in his smaller days. Sometimes he antagonized you just for over dramatic reactions; he always laughed when you got red in the face. You found it fortunate that his laugh was something you liked listening to. When it was genuine, that is.

You turn on your heel and head over to your closet to rummage around inside for something presentable to wear over to Dib’s place. Under your breath you murmur something about Zim still having a huge ego and he hears you, yanking on his wig and tucking in his antennae with a grumble. Said grumble is followed by a long, drawn out hiss once he ponders on what you murmured to yourself.

“What did you say?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you look back at him over your shoulder, “you must be hearing things.”

•••

Zim was very persistent that you walk instead of drive. You tried to convince him it would be at least a six block walk to Dib’s house and that you didn’t have the energy to walk that far, hang out for a few hours and then walk back. It was wasted breath—you knew it would be. Once Zim has his mind made up, changing it is difficult. Difficult to the point that you just give in to keep from fighting.

So instead of using your car and driving like normal people, you find yourself walking down the sidewalk with a scowl. The weather is nice and hardly anyone is out on the streets but you still find yourself glaring at your feet. Zim seems content with getting his way from the way he gazes up at the clear sky, eyes slightly crinkled at the edges. Out of the corner of your peripheral vision you can see he has his hood up and his back is hunched slightly forward. One might think he could be a pickpocket or robber with the way he carries himself. 

He has his disguise on. You don’t know why he is being as cautious as he is. Then again, it is probably best you don’t know as of now. You’re already teetering on the edge of a another panic attack—you definitely don’t need anymore bad news. Not right this moment.

“You smell.”

You blink up at him, eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. “Huh?”

His pace slows enough to lean his face towards yours. Your mouth falls open when his hand comes up to swipe around the pulse on your neck. Blood rushes to your face when he rubs his fingers together like there was something there to smear, mouth tipping into a scowl. In the back of your head you think that maybe there should be something to be embarrassed about even though you did nothing wrong.

Zim never did this when shifting through earlier memories. This is new. This is unusual at best.

“You reek of worry worse than usual. Stop that.”

Your first instinct is to cover yourself, particularly your neck, with your hands like somehow that would keep him from sensing your distress. A huff of frustration leaves through your parted lips, still trying to shake off the redness in your cheeks. Attempting to push past the initial embarrassment leaves you a stuttering mess.

“Did—did you just taste me with your hands?”

Zim gives you a look that says you should know that already. “Irkens can taste and smell through our fingers. Why do you think we keep the gloves on? Definitely not to be comfortable.”

You try to do the math in your head but all it does is confuse you more. “But you have your gloves on,” you dumbly point out.

You get an eye roll in return. It takes all your willpower not to choke him where he walks, and as if sensing your switch in energy—the bastard starts to smirk. Torturing you seems to give him some sort of sick pleasure but you do find the smirk attractive. Regrettably attractive. His zipper teeth always did entice you.

“These gloves are old and you stick out like a thousand perfumes put together. Not saying I don’t like how you smell, but I definitely do not like when you smell like stress. It stresses _me_ out.”

You gasp when he uses the same hand he touched on your neck to run his thumb across his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue even pokes out enough to run across the latex and you frantically wave your hands in front of your face. You’re bristling at the seams and he knows it from the way he chuckles. 

Now you know why he wanted to walk instead of drive: he has way too much time on his hands to pester you. The attention is nice in a way; it is what you have been wanting for the past five years now. Not exactly the flirty, suggestive kind but you can’t deny you like it. It’s a new side of Zim you haven’t seen before. Small, overzealous Zim wouldn’t have dared to do that just now. He would have made it his mission to avoid those topics and even go as far to run away mid conversation. 

The rest of the way is filled with mindless chatter. Zim finds a brief second during your talking to sneakily find your hand with his own and you don’t comment on it, only smiling into your shoulder. His three-fingered hand feels better holding yours than any normal five-fingered one ever could. This affectionate side of him is definitely worth getting used to after being alone.

When Dib’s house comes into view, you have to take a deep breath to prepare yourself. All hell is about to let loose and you are going to be the one breaking it up. Zim is unconcerned and even yawns into his free hand when stepping up to the door. It makes you half heartedly glare at him. 

“Behave yourself, Zim,” you narrow your eyes at him after knocking.

“Eegh. No promises.”

You open your mouth to nag at him but the door opening cuts off any lingering thoughts you may have. Dib stands on the other side of the doorframe with a blank face and you offer a nervous wave. Zim gives a lazy grin when Dib zeros in on him without greeting you back. 

You would try to smooth out the situation before it gets out of hand but decide keeping your mouth shut until spoken to is better. Not because you feel like you have to be silent in the presence of the opposite gender but because talking would create more tension. You have enough tension in your shoulders to last a lifetime.

If you could somehow roll all your tension into a weapon, you would have something large enough to kill at least half of the population on earth.

“Don’t tell me,” Dib starts with a bite to his tone.

Zim peers forward, his lazy grin melting into an evil one. You can see the malice in the way his lips curl. “Hello, Dib-Beast. Miss me? Cant say I missed you and your dumb haircut.”

You turn your head back and forth from between the two, noticing that they stand around the same height. Dib is a few inches taller overall but being smaller than someone hasn’t ever ever stopped Zim in antagonizing people. Especially the Membrane household. It was his life work to make Dib slightly miserable after he gave up trying to rule earth; you don’t think it worked. The two used to feed off each other and it never harmed anyone. If they found joy in trying to ruin each other, you certainly didn’t want to get involved.

You watch in anxious anticipation when they both get into each other’s face, snarling out petty insults that would make you cry if in their shoes—a sensitive soul like you could never do what they do. A sigh of disappointment is all you can muster but neither of them hear. Zim has long ago let go of your hand to push at Dib‘s chest with a single claw—all the while spewing Irken slurs in broken, hurried clicks and whistles. Dib doesn’t directly know how to speak Irken—humans simply aren’t capable of making sounds like that—but he did study it enough to know when Zim talked about him. 

They aren’t shouting but should it continue they could be. The two of them used to have screaming matches in your yard over who got to visit first and your parents were slightly worried about the company you kept around because of that. Simpler times, they were.

“You kiss your Almighty Tallest with that mouth?”

“Did you ever get the chance to kiss your mother at all?”

Your eyes go comically wide. You saw an insult like that coming from a mile away but didn’t expect it to hit as soon as you got to the door. Shuffling to the side, you brace yourself for the worst. Maybe Dib will throw a punch. Talking about his mother, which he can’t remember having, is a sensitive subject and insulting him on it causes riots. That would be like telling Zim he is a defective right to his face: you don’t do it. Not unless you want a few broken bones, or death. 

Dib goes still to process what Zim had said, but you can see in the way his skin flushes red that you should take another step back. You were right in your assumptions when Dib throws himself forward to tackle Zim into the front lawn. The two tumble into the grass, clawing, punching, and kicking while yelling profanities. You pinch the bridge of your nose and grit your teeth.

Boys will be boys. Expect in this case they aren’t just wrestling like normal and are actually trying to hurt one another. Dib’s lip is already bleeding and Zim’s wig is tipped to the side, revealing a very bent antenna.

The situation has went on long enough. If you don’t step in, they could be at it for awhile. Sundown at most. 

“I’m going home.”

Just like that, they stop everything with two frantic, _“no!”’s_ that could melt the hardest hard. Yours, on the other hand, is very agitated and does not melt.

“Then stop fighting or I’ll _get_ involved. You know what happened the last time I had to step in?”

Dib scoffs, trying to brush back his hair into place and replace his glasses back on his nose. You narrow your eyes to the point where you’re squinting but he swallows harshly when you peer forward on your tippy toes, daring him to challenge you. Zim giggles to himself before you point at him and he flinches back, now nervously giggling to himself instead of at Dib. You find it cute but bury it under your annoyance for later. 

“That was years ago, Sugar,” Dib murmurs, rubbing his forearm with a wince.

If Zim didn’t have his wig on which was readjusted back into place, you are 100% sure his antennae would be standing to their tallest height.

“SUGAR?” Zim shrieks, and you have to hide the way your lips want to curl at the sound. The nickname brings you back to the taste of cafeteria food and late summer nights. 

They quickly begin with insulting each other again—mostly Zim screaming about how Dib shouldn’t get to call you such a name—and you have to snap your fingers to get their attention. They continue glaring at each other but say no more to avoid your wrath. After licking your lips and pondering how you could salvage what is left of this visit, you stalk over and rip them up from the ground. Dib by his ear and Zim by the skin on his cheek.

It takes some maneuvering but you manage to get them inside and seated in the living room, both on different couches. You sit down behind Zim, take a second to make sure they aren’t going to jump each other over the coffee table, and then sink back into the cushions of the couch. Dib watches when Zim leans over you with mild concern edged into his features. His clawed hand comes to rest on your leg, too low to be suggestive but too high to be a platonic touch. 

You tilt your head back just enough to give him a sweet smile and, to Dib’s surprise, Zim returns it and if not a little more crinkled at the ends. All these years of knowing Zim in an odd frenemies sort of way and he has never seen a smile that innocent come from an alien so cold hearted by nature. It was as if he was back in middle school watching you two have fresh, puppy love stares for each other all over again. It made him sick on one hand and happy that you hold an air of peace about you on the other.

“So this is still a thing?”

Zim cuts his eyes with a low growl that rumbles his chest. “Look at you being observant.”

Dib doesn’t comment on the way Zim’s body is positioned to hover over yours, effectively caging you in as if he were protecting you from a predator. It swells on his vocal cords but he swallows it back down to respect you and your choices no matter how questionable they may be. While Zim was the last person— _alien_ —he would have pegged you to go for, he can’t deny that your willpower to wait for so long paid off. Your devotion to a middle school-high school relationship lasted for as long as it has is impressive in itself.

Then again, the relationship wasn’t normal. He knew it was off when Zim suddenly decided that you, the person he had been actively been trying to avoid, was his new flame. It struck him as odd and it spent lots of time gathering information to find out why. It made him sick when it came to light why Zim turned from cold hearted to smitten in an instant. With Zim’s disappearance, he has hoped your affections would die out and that would be the end of it.

He wanted to ignore it, ignore it, ignore it—

But learned the hard way through these past five years is that if imprinting happens for Irkens, it can happen for humans too. Unknown to you, but the imprint is still there whether you know what it is or not. Dib doesn’t plan on letting you go clueless for any longer—neither him or Zim has had enough courage to tell you yet. Someone has to do it and with Zim’s reappearance out of nowhere, now will be a good as time as any.

You deserve to know even if it stirs up trouble.

Dib settles down with one leg crossed over the other and tongues his busted lip. “When did you get back?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth but otherwise keep quiet. Zim can smell your unease just by the hand on your leg and uses his thumb to rub soft, small circles into your skin to help distract any oncoming panic. You relax if only by a little bit.

“Last night,” Zim answers in a flat tone. 

Dib runs a through his hair, eyes trained directly on you. “Was that before or after we got off the phone?”

You stiffen under his gaze. He’s talking to you now. It feels like an interrogation and you are not a fan. “Way after.”

Dib hums from the back of his throat and you prickle at the sound. The way he sits there reminds you of his father: calculating and observing every move made. You have always told him that he has strong resemblance to his father personality wise whether he likes it or not. Being pressed down by his stare is proof of that, and Zim isn’t having any of it.

“How about you get on with it and stop making her uncomfortable, _Pig_ ,” he hisses, making sure to pop the P in pig just to irritate Dib further.

You sit up from your slouched position and rub a hand just under Zim’s pak, digging your fingers in just enough to tell him to hold in his aggressive tendencies for a little while longer. If you didn’t know him like the back of your hand you would mistake his unbroken stare with Dib as a brush off. But his hand tightens around your lower thigh to acknowledge your warning and something in you sighs a breath a relief.

“I doubt I want to know what you have been doing this whole time,” Dib starts after sending you nothing but a scowl. It doesn’t look directed at you, but you’re caught in the crossfire.

Zim purses his lips to form a point. He doesn’t seem too keen on going any further in that direction of the conversation and turns his head. “Not that I would tell you anyway. What I do is my business,” he murmurs for himself but loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Are you at least going to tell your little play thing? There are a lot of things you should be telling her, isn’t here? It would be shame if she left.”

Zim hisses through his bared teeth. “You better keep your mouth shut and stop disrespecting her. She isn’t leaving, you—“

“Possessive, much?” Dib rests his fingertips just above his upper lip to hide a demeaning smirk, “Oh, right, it’s in your instinct to be possessive over your imprint. Forgot about that _little tidbit_.”

Dib keeps his smothering gaze fixated on you and Zim—well, if he wasn’t looking at you before, he is now. Quite panicked, too. Your lips part with a question on your tongue but somehow you stay quiet. Dib’s words replay through your head and you even end up squinting at the empty coffee table whilst processing the information.

_ “What?” _

Every thought inside your head is scrambled and confused and words in general hurt your brain. You want to go home and sleep. Coming here was a mistake you thought you were prepared to make; ironic seeing you thought the same thing about that date last night. 

You desperately need a drink. A heavy drink. Something that will knock you out for at least 5-10 business days.

The palms of your hands are clammy and you duck your face to the side when wiping them on the edge of your shirt. You know you are being observed by two pairs of eyes and it makes every hair on the back of your neck prickle. So many secrets need to be unpacked but the more you realize they may not be what you want to hear, the bigger the need to cry wells in your eyes. You hate it. All you do is cry, whine, complain, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

“Are you okay?”

You can’t decipher who said that nor do you feel the need to ask.

The urge to get up and leave feels heavy on your shoulders, but the surge of anger makes your throat burn. A thousand or more hateful words rise up like bile and you decide that giving in is justified. You have a right to be cross; you deserve to scream until your vocal cords are raw and it hurts to breathe. So much for having everything come out peacefully; of course, you had to find out the spiteful way. 

“No,” you grit out through clenched teeth, “I am _not_ okay. Why would I be okay?”

Dib and Zim say not a word, staring at you with worry on their features. You can’t seem to find the willpower to care about what they might be feeling. For once, you want to be selfish and leave them to figure it out alone. Being alone became your normal, an every day routine made by every single stage of grief known to man. If you have to suffer, then so should they. Even if for a moment.

You stand from the couch, throwing Zim’s hand back into his own lap and stalking right over to Dib. He yelps when you kick him right on the shin. Satisfaction in his hurt is overwhelming and you don’t try to hide the angry tears that well in your eyes.

“The date was the worst thing I think I’ve ever done and I have done _a lot_ of terrible things. Thank you for not asking and fighting with Zim instead. Oh, you want _details_ of it? Well, I’ll tell you,” you snarl in his face, “he kissed me and I tried convincing myself it was okay but all I could feel was how it wasn’t right. The taste of cigarette in my mouth afterwards made me realize I’d rather die alone than do that again. Am I being dramatic? I could be. But you have been withholding information from me that could have _prevented_ that.”

Dib‘s eyes are wide, face slack with surprise as he holds the shin you kicked. Your bottom lip quivers to try and hold back a sob.

“ _I’m not stupid_. I know what an imprint is. This day in age romanticizes that sort of thing, but you didn’t think to tell me? I doubted it was possible for humans, let alone be _real_ at all. If I am in fact imprinted with Zim, then I should have been told that before trying to move on. You wanted me to move on and be miserable than be with Zim. I’m right, _aren’t I?_ ”

You redirect your cold stare over to Zim. His face doesn’t hold any emotion but you can see his hands are shaking where they lay. His tactic of, _“show no emotion to hide what you’re feeling on the inside,”_ is chipping. Or maybe you know him so well you don’t need him to chip before you see it.

“Keep your explanation. I’m going home and you aren’t welcome back until you can tell me why you left, why you thought it was okay to leave me, why you keep all these secrets like it would be _better_ for me _not_ to know.”

You don’t give them time to call you back—drowning out their pleas with a sob—and march straight over to the front door, holding yourself like it’s raining outside and you have no umbrella.

You make sure to slam the door on your way out. It’s their problem now, not yours.

•••

The thrumming in your skull makes you wince. You stare down at the pills in your hand with bloodshot eyes and a frown.

It probably wasn’t wise to cry for as long as you did.

You slip the pain pills onto the back of your tongue and swish them down with water. The dryness of your mouth appreciates the cold from the ice and so does your throbbing headache. The noise from your living room tv does an excellent job as a distraction—you’ve been listening to The Crazy Monkey show replay on repeat. Gir would be sitting right beside you to watch it if he were here.

You lean against the stove with both of your hands, eyeing your reflection in the black reflective surface. Tired is about the only way you can describe your appearance. Your eyes are rimmed with red, cheeks are streaked with dried tears, and you can see the nail marks running down your neck. They are light against your skin but the slight stinging pain reminds you that they are there.

You hadn’t meant to claw yourself up like that. Everything fell apart when you made it back home. By the time you had come back to reality, there they were, reminding you to be more careful next time. You screamed and screamed until you hit a point of numb that settled it in a wave. It was miracle your neighbors didn’t hear the commotion and come knock. A curious, nosey bunch they can be.

You tiptoe out of the kitchen back to the living room and flop down onto your couch. The tv is almost blinding as your lift your eyes to see what is playing before declaring it uninteresting. A vibration from your phone catches your attention. The screen is lit up will multiple missed calls from Dib along with messages asking to just talk. Some are pleas, some are demands, some feel forced. It’s been a few hours and at this point he should give it up. With a quick scoff, you wrap a blanket over your shoulders and nuzzle into the cushions. The next time you talk to him, he might earn a hand to the face. Depends on how you feel in that moment. 

Time drifts by and you find yourself slipping into light sleep, head lulling to the side. The sound of your door opening is what makes you sit up, eyes bleary and wide. A huff of breath leaves your lungs when seeing it is just Zim. You forgot to lock your door? You have got to be better about that. You should set some reminders for yourself. 

There is period of observing each other to gauge a reaction. Zim shuts the door behind him but makes no attempt to walk farther in, opting to lean against the doorframe with crossed arms.

“Why are you here?” You speak up, voice raspy from prolonged use.

You can see the brief flicker of concern in his eyes before it’s gone. He takes the time to slip off his pink hoodie and hang it on the coat rack before walking over. A lump forms in your throat at just how tall he looms over you now. Average height isn’t too terribly intimidating, especially not for you, but the way he keeps his stature perfect adds something you can’t explain. His back is always straight and his hands are always where he wants them to be.

You sit in silence when he sits down beside you but leaves enough space where you aren’t touching. All you can do is stare when he sheds the wig and contacts, tossing them to the side where they won’t be missed. They land on the floor without so much as a sound.

“You remember that day at skool where you had to get between me and Dib?”

You blink in astonishment. Maybe somewhere deep in your soul you hoped for an apology, not a recap on past events. But for the sake of your sanity, you nod. How could you forget? It made a gateway into a new stage of life.

He continues to shed articles of clothing such as gloves and boots before turning his full attention to you. Your heart hammers against your rib cage as he the little pink pinpricks of his eyes roam over your face like he is taking it all in for the first time. Suddenly, your questionable appearance is embarrassing.

“That was the day I knew I couldn’t let you go.”

He watches your reaction, plans to get yelled at, told to leave but all you do is purse your lips. Your next question makes him click a few times.

“Was that the day we imprinted? I can’t say I know... _exactly_ what it is. Just the basics.”

“It was the first time I had ever made eye contact with you,” he starts, “and imprinting happens when eyes meet for a significant amount of time. You humans say the eyes are the gateway to the soul. That would be correct... in a way. Imprinting is more than what you humans believe it to be.”

You knew there was something odd about the way he looked at you that day. Awe, fear, surprise. No wonder he ran away and hid for a few days after—he just needed time to think about it.

“Irkens only get one chance at love. We do not fall in love as humans do. Zim could never ‘date’ someone for a year, say I love them, and then break it off like nothing happened. That isn’t how it works for us. Imprinting doesn’t work like that.”

His claws clench and unclench a few times, flexing the tendons in his hands. You can see the stress of explaining in the way his shoulders are hunched forward. Having to come clean over his actions has always been a sore spot for him, but why? You can’t seem to figure that part out.

“Imprinting is _never_ wrong. We don’t get to make the decision who we want or not. It is a force that ties two beings together permanently through energy. So when I looked at you that day...” he stops mid-sentence to gaze at you again, “I am the first Irken to imprint in over a thousand millennia. It was written from our code a long time ago... but my pak is damaged and I am a defective. I am quite literally the only Irken that can feel the way I do.”

He pauses mid-breath and hums. It’s low and you can tell it is mostly to help him formulate his nexts words which is odd in itself. Zim never really tried to filter himself before—he never cared about other people enough to do so.

“You are the most important thing to Zim. I left to protect you from the Tallest,” he continues, a bite to his tone, “they are after me. I couldn’t risk putting you in danger. Not my human. I’ve had everything taken from me. I will not lose you as well. Should you want me to burn this whole planet to the ground, I will. Anything you want and Zim _will_ give it to you.”

It was only a matter of time before they turned on him worst than the first time. The thought is terrifying to know that they don’t just want him gone, they want him dead. The urge to reach out and coddle him is strong, but he beats you to it by taking your hand into his. You can feel the light vibration from the skin on skin contact; he’s purring deep from within his chest. He only ever did that when you were upset before, almost as his way of offering comfort. He never did it any other time.

That is a lot to take in. More so than you originally thought. It leaves more questions than answers but you don’t feel so lost anymore. The worried part of you breathes a sigh in relief at seeing just how genuine he is about the whole thing, how tenderly he holds every part of you like he is afraid he will lose you again, and especially how he looks at you: like you are the only galaxy he has ever known.

This one alien has seen so many stars throughout his lifetime, taken in their awe, their beauty, but not once has he ever looked or spoken about them like he does to you now. Through a thousand shooting stars, planets of all kinds, creatures you have never known, and other beauties he still chooses to focus on you of all things.

There are a lot of actions you shouldn’t forgive out of pure spite, but you know that if he thinks so highly of you regardless of what he’s done, that is enough. The healing, better explanations, and time to work it out will come later. You just feel like you can start healing now.

“Please don’t lose me again,” you whisper, clinging to the one hand he has offered to you. 

“That means putting you in harms way. What if I have to—“

You shake your head and abruptly cut him off. Both of your hands are trembling when you cup his face in your palms. “Where you go, I go. I may not know the whole situation but I’m standing with my decision. You cannot leave me again. I have never felt more miserable in my entire life than I did being away from you.”

By the time you get done expressing how you feel, he’s leaning into one of your hands, the other being held by his claws to make sure you can’t move away. The intensity of his stare through the shaded pink of his eyes is enough to keep you in place—like moving would ruin the moment. Your eyelids close and you breathe out, waves of acceptance washing over you.

“You can explain everything else to me later. Just... get over here.”

And he does so _without_ question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. zim definitely pick locked your door to get inside


End file.
